


Anecdote

by Scrunchles



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Thanksgiving Dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5325476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunchles/pseuds/Scrunchles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“In thirty seconds you’ll all realize that this was a hilarious joke and let Jessica Jones leave,” is what Kilgrave told the precinct.  Officer Evans and his partner thought that their families would enjoy the story over Thanksgiving dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anecdote

“Alright, alright, the best story of the year, hands down, yeah? So, this girl walks into the precinct and dumps a head on one of the detectives’ desks.”  Evans paused for effect, though the faces turned towards him didn’t look anywhere near as entertained as when he recounted the events at the precinct Thanksgiving party.

His partner was already chuckling, and he could feel his own eyes glassing with tears at the sheer absurdity of it.  His wife’s smile faltered, and she glanced at the five children sitting around their table.  Only one was theirs, the other four were from his brothers and their wives clustered at the Thanksgiving feast they did every year.

“And she tells the detective that she did something terrible, you know, real serial killer stuff.  And she—haha—she submitted to handcuffs and we let her y’know, kinda sit a little in the interrogation room.  Let her sweat out whatever she might have been on or change her story.”  His partner was snickering at his shoulder, and he pushed at his shoulder to get him to get a hold of himself. 

“And?  Did she?” One of his brothers prompted.

“Not at all!  She _insisted_ that she be put in Super Max prison of all things!  Claimed she ripped his head from his shoulders with her bare hands.” He mimed it with the little hen that his sister-in-law Sharon always made for the family dinners.

His partner chimed in with a snicker, “she barely weighed more than little Connor there.  Wasn’t much more than a zipper.”  He made a helpful motion of zipping.

Evans chuckled and nodded, putting his hen down to take a sip of cranberry-spiked booze.

“Was it a fake head?” Aunt Joanie asked.

“Nope!” Evans grinned.  His partner slapped his shoulder in amusement.

“So the guy was actually murdered, but you guys let the suspect go because she told you it was a joke?” Evans’s wife asked carefully.

“They just don’t get it,” Evans said in soft resignation.

“What a world to live in,” his partner agreed, though the look they shared had a confused tilt to it.  They hadn’t followed any protocols with the case.  The head had been dumped into the morgue as a John Doe.

Something felt wrong, but all they could do was laugh when they thought of the case. 

Perhaps it wasn’t as funny as they had thought.


End file.
